Spilling the Bourbon

fig03.9) this dense medicine

"While most of us are employed, our nebulous employers, the business owners and grifters hoarding their peacocks and sawmills have found the time for stealing the breath of our very union from us."

"Aren't the shadows perfect then," Ovid speaking. There's a pearl necktie, it's blue edges have sunk into the bottom of her perfect well. Two of her glasses have tipped when the radio echoed from it's side table. The trim plastic box is as mean and as white as a jar of frightened bees trembling. There's a mystery of towels sharing their smell and space with the temptations that children have hidden there.

"Testing our resolve will just continues this flawed model for exchange. It currently hides downstairs under the couch with the cable box. Wouldn't it be easier to admit that we've been experiencing some aspect of a system that's gone awry. That many of us are actively exercising our restraint against such universality. That the privilege of such nakedity is very scary."

"S'okay, more sex in the basement when the TV's on anyway. There's more sex by the pool when some drinks have spilled," oh Ovid.

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Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin

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